


Pasta for your thoughts.

by hemisphaeric



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M, pasta seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemisphaeric/pseuds/hemisphaeric
Summary: "What truly mattered, Martín thought as he kneaded and rolled the fresh dough with flour-white hands, was that he had planned a perfect date night."
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Pasta for your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing with no ambition whatsoever to be considered a masterpiece.

It’s not that Martín didn’t love cooking, or that he preferred ordering in because it was easier. He simply thought there was no point in wasting his hours in such a time-consuming activity if he was the only one to profit from it; he wasn’t the type of person who cared enough to put in that kind of effort just for his own pleasure and well-being.  
Obviously, since Andrés came into the picture and especially from the moment they had gotten together or, better said, since the exact minute Andrés had assured him that yes, they were actually dating not just messing around, things had changed drastically for Martín. In more ways than just the more obvious one.  
Cooking for Andrés had posed him a challenge he had willingly accepted, aiming at the best and the best only for the man he had the pleasure of calling his… _‘Boyfriend? Partner?’_ Not that it really mattered, but he still wasn’t sure how he could refer to their relationship without it sounding like they were twelve and had just kissed for the first time under the see-saw in the park. What truly mattered, Martín thought as he kneaded and rolled the fresh dough with flour-white hands, was that he had planned a perfect date night. It had taken Martín a while, but he had even been able to fight the fear of Andrés not enjoying that kind of date to the back of his mind. He obviously knew Andrés’ very refined and sophisticated taste but after all, anybody could have taken him out for dinner to an expensive, luxurious restaurant in the centre of Florence, _’but surely I’m the only one who has ever cooked pasta from scratch for him.’_

As he was finishing setting the cutlery in perfectly symmetrical positions, Martín heard familiar steps echoing through the ancient, smooth stones of the cloister. He could see the surprised expression crossing Andrés’ features for a quarter of a second before being replaced by a radiant smile as he set eyes on the table in the centre of the courtyard.  
The smile didn’t leave his lips as he walked closer to Martín, “Good evening, I see we are having dinner outside today”  
“Oh we are, the sun is about to set so it will be less hot in a couple of minutes.”  
Andrés took off his jacket, raising his eyebrows. “It will still be hot because you’re here, _mi amor_.” Martín rolled his eyes and kissed his _partner? Boyfriend?_ on the cheek.

The remains of the day were swept away quickly by the robes of the last group of monks retiring into their chambers. Martín and Andrés slipped into easy conversation, Martín shaking his head in pretend-annoyance as Andrés explained one of his impossible plans. To be more specific, he fantasised about stealing diamonds from a shop on Ponte Vecchio with that flaming light in his eyes that made Martín feel soft with adoration.  
“Dinner was delicious, you keep outdoing yourself day after day.” Martín smiled proudly as Andrés looked at him, his head slightly thrown back. He could read Andrés’ body language as easily as he could read his own handwriting, and he knew from how he was elegantly slouching on the chair almost imperceptibly, his legs stretched out long and crossed at the ankle under the table, that Andrés de Fonollosa was, indeed, satisfied. ‘Satisfied because of something I made.’ Gloating in his own achievements was not something Martín would usually find himself doing, but he could definitely get used to it. 

He stood up and motioned for Andrés to follow him. “Are you ready for the second part of the night?” Martín raised his eyebrows tentatively and kissed Andrés’ cheek before taking his hand to guide him up and up the narrow stairs.

The sun was about to set over the Florentine hills as they lay together on a single deckchair on the west-facing terrace, a bottle of burgundy red wine and two large glasses resting beside them. From being chatty and talking about art and the astounding display he had seen that evening in Florence for the full length of their dinner, Andrés had turned uncharacteristically quiet. He was staring out at the sunset as he drew lazy yet perfect circles on Martín’s back. A strong feeling of dread took hold of Martín’s stomach as he realised Andrés wasn’t enjoying their date or his company or _something_.  
And as always when he was feeling stressed and under pressure, Martín decided it was about time he took refuge in his long time devoted friend: alcohol. He chugged down a mouthful without really caring about the small rivulet of wine which trickled down his chin. He hadn’t even put the bottle down when he felt Andrés’ lips on his, his deft hands pulling him on top and then quickly circling his back to hold him close.  
“This is perfect” he kissed his mouth, his cheek, his chin and Martín suddenly felt overwhelmed by his own stupidity. “You are perfect Martín. Stop thinking.” Andrés rested both hands on his cheek and kissed him thoroughly, making every single weird thought about inadequacy and rejection disappear magically from Martín’s head.  
Cooking homemade pasta for Andrés had, indeed, been a success.


End file.
